


A Real Party

by 33lavender



Series: 33lavender's shuffle challenge [1]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alcohol, Clubbing, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Some mature themes, avoid this fic if you're uncomfortable with alcohol consumption, flirty Phil, set in basically the present day
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2019-01-05 08:09:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12186201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/33lavender/pseuds/33lavender
Summary: Dan and Phil are invited for a rare night out of the house by one of Phil's old university friends, and we are left wondering why Phil never auditioned for Strictly Come Dancing.





	A Real Party

**Author's Note:**

> Hi again everyone!
> 
> Apologies for the extended break. Uni work and the sudden emergence of a social life has meant that I haven't had that much time to write, plus I haven't been feeling super motivated lately. But it's back, and I've decided to embark on a challenge of sorts! I'm going to hit shuffle on my youtube playlist and write drabbles based on how whatever song that comes up makes me feel. I'll link you to each song so you can listen to it while you read and see where the inspiration came from!
> 
> This one comes from Cosmic Girl by Jamiroquai - [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D-NvQ6VJYtE)
> 
> There are a few warnings for this fic but nothing explicit - there are several alcohol mentions and mentions of sex (as well as a creepy bartender if you squint), which is why I rated it mature just in case. Other than that this is just fun. Enjoy!

It might have been a little painful to watch were Phil not so characteristically adorable.

 

A head taller than many in the crowd, he shimmied, drink in hand threatening to spill all over anyone within a meter radius, to whatever spangly pop tune bubbled away in the small venue. Meanwhile, a bemused Dan watched on from the bar, sipping his own drink at a far more leisurely pace. He was only 26, but you’d be forgiven for thinking that he had traded in this kind of lifestyle years ago, because he had, really.

 

Life with Phil had come to redefine a ‘party’ from a loud, boozy affair like those of his early university days to a night in with their closest friends. The thudding, sensual music of the countless house parties he’d attended and barely remembered and what, at one time, had become the almost weekly ritual of drinking until he couldn’t feel his own body had slowly but surely dissipated into pizza and board games and Dan’s head resting on Phil’s tummy at the end of the night. It _was_ a bit lame, not that Dan could bring himself to care. Their sort of party left him with butterflies in his tummy of the far more pleasant kind.

 

When Phil had announced that morning that an old university friend of his was coming into the city for a party, Dan’s first port of call was to start considering his pizza order for the night, and wonder aloud whether their guest was pro or anti pineapple.

 

Phil looked at him quizzically. “Hm? No, Dan, a real party.”

 

For a man at whose age it was still quite normal to frequent London’s many clubs it took Dan an embarrassingly long time to realise what Phil meant by ‘real.’ Phil paid the price for his laughter, however, when he ended up with his bowl of Frosted Flakes upturned in his lap for labelling Dan more of a dinosaur than he was.

 

So they’d ended up here, the basement of some snazzy bar, seemingly un-ironically nineties-themed and churning out pink cocktails of all descriptions by the boatload (and it was no secret that Phil liked his fruity drinks). This had come after several hours of outfit anguish for Dan, as usual - and, surprisingly, Phil, who was often guilty of just peeling whatever seemed acceptably clean from the floor and chucking it on five minutes before he had to leave the house. This time, though, he had scurried around the house flinging discarded shirts in his wake, annoying Dan every few minutes with ‘Does this look ok?’ or ‘Have you seen my - ?’ or ‘Are my new jeans in the wash?’

 

It wasn’t until they’d actually greeted Phil’s friend, Tory, at the restaurant where they’d had a very nice birthday dinner with a large table of people Dan didn’t know, that he’d figured it out.

 

Tory was a very good looking man, and so was his boyfriend, and when Phil gave them his typical cheery hello it came out a good deal lower than normal - normal in public, at least. Dan was very familiar with jealously and had been particularly so in his younger years, when things had been generally shakier and he considered it a sort of defence mode. But while he hadn’t rid himself of it completely, the kind of stability that he and Phil was far from being perturbed by a little crush. If anything, it was funny; God knows Phil had had the time of his life embarrassing Dan around Anthony during their time in the US.

 

As the night went on, Dan even found himself glad for Tory’s presence - Phil was acting rather strangely but not in a way that Dan was adverse to; babbling on like a nervous teenager yet also being markedly more handsy with Dan than he would ever usually allow in public. Whatever was to blame for the hand that had attached itself to his thigh, whether it be against his better judgement Dan wasn’t finding himself willing to put a stop to it. It was nice, he thought. Potentially dangerous and a little silly, but nice.

 

To his great surprise, though, their current destination had been Phil’s idea - ‘I saw it in a listicle; 10 best new hidden clubs in London!’ he’d claimed to the group, twirling his finger around the little paper umbrella in his drink. And even more to Dan’s amusement, Phil had clearly decided that if he was going to out, he was going to go - well - _all_ out.

 

Hips swaying slightly off-rhythm and arms above his head in the sea of people, Phil was a picture of absolute ridiculousness and Dan couldn’t get enough. Typically, it should have been him out there. But watching from the bar and fighting off the advances of the (much) older bartender with a dismissive wave of the hand in favour of watching his complete and utter dork of a boyfriend lose himself in jangly 90’s pop in a club they would likely never visit again seemed the right option, for that night.

 

Tory along with many of the other guests were nowhere to be seen. Phil didn’t seem to care. The irresistible pull of the alcohol and the London nightlife seemed to have taken precedence, and without Dan beside him, Phil was just dancing for himself. He never did that.

 

If anything, Dan was just making time to admire every last flash of skin on display from Phil’s brand new ripped jeans on their first public debut. He felt that before tonight, he’d never _truly_ understood the hype.

 

At some point he’d lost sight of Phil as a group who were apparently determined not to be parted swallowed him and pulled him far enough into the crowd that even the advantage of his height could no longer identify him amongst the sweaty bodies. Dan turned back to the bar. He ordered himself another drink, thankfully from a different bartender, and wondered whether he should get in there himself. It had been so long since he’d danced with Phil, if you didn’t count the spontaneous swaying in the living room at 2AM. That was dancing of a different sort, though; it was an excuse to be close to the other, to bury faces into necks and let whatever music was floating softly through the flat mask the sounds of breath huffing across skin. Not the kind of dancing that made them sweat, made them laugh aloud into the crowd; to be close to each other but in a different, potentially more debauched way.

 

Dan considered the last time they’d danced like that. His hair had been longer and straighter and Phil had been the hottest living thing he’d ever laid eyes on, even if his dancing resembled a flailing baby animal taking its first steps. He’d found himself without much mind to care when Phil’s arms were around him andhis mouth was on the back of his neck and his hands were in places they really shouldn’t have been in public.

 

Some things would never change.

 

When a pair of warm hands tentatively stroked his sides from behind him, Dan’s first instinct was to flinch, and he did, fingers tightening around his drink, until a voice reached his ears.

 

“Hey, darling, it’s just me.”

 

The creepy bartender turned away in disappointment under the guise of retrieving a bottle of something from beneath the counter as the pretty, curly-haired thing he’d had no luck with turned to kiss a lanky, sweaty guy. From the familiarity between the two and the way the boy smiled as the other man pushed his face into his neck, they had to have been dating. From the sheer contentment on the curly-haired man’s face at the touch of the other man, it didn’t seem likely that he’d be looking for a third party to join the vodka-soaked sex they were probably going to have that night. He sighed, and went back to wiping his glass, with a little more vigour now.

 

“You’re enjoying yourself out there?”

 

Phil giggled drunkenly into Dan’s neck, winding himself more firmly around Dan. He smelled of alcohol and sweat, and the scent awoke something in Dan.

 

“Come enjoy it, too,” Phil whined, and Dan smiled into his drink, which Phil promptly plucked from him with surprisingly steady hands. “Come dance with me, Dan.”

 

“What about Tory? Where’s your crush got off to, then?”

 

“Bathrooms or something, I don’t care. Not my crush. With his boyfriend. Dressed up all nice for you, Dan, don’t you wanna see me dance?”

 

_How much_ had _he had to drink?_

 

“Oh, for me, you say!”

 

“Wanted to impress my _crush_ ,” Phil smiled against Dan’s neck, and his fingers caught in the material of Dan’s shirt, pulling slightly as he drew away towards the horde of dancers who danced right on, oblivious to anything but the music. “Don’t you remember the last time we danced together like this?”

 

There was a clink as Dan replaced his drink on the bar counter with a little more enthusiasm than was probably needed in his haste to trail after a sultry-eyed Phil, and was promptly whisked away by the sour-faced bartender.

 

“How could I forget?”

 

In the pulsing, swelling body of the crowd, Phil’s mouth tasted like pink bubbles.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm at floralhowelllester on tumblr :) 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! Feel free to leave your thoughts below.


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